Remote, Control-ler
by Mitsurausu
Summary: Brendan isn't simply going to let himself get overshadowed by this strange video game addict, no matter how good at Pokemon battles they are. And when it comes down to hiding from the Pokemon League for his shady past misdemeanors or doing strange illegal acts to buy more time, not even Wally can hold him back from the latter.
1. Ch 1: How to Get in Gear

A/N : Greetings from Wally's writing corner! Here comes the multi-chapter fanfiction I promised myself I wouldn't do...it's of course going to take priority over the 100 Themes, if only because I'm already dedicated to the plot. Yes, this will contain gore later on. Yes, it will get romancey. No, again, it will not have smut. And yes, there is an antagonist. Who, though? Well.

As an obligatory note, if you have not listened to the song Remote Control yet, you really really should to even grasp a bare understanding of what's in store for you here. It's not completely relevant, but still important.

No chapter will have the same POV as the last one, however. At least, that's the plan, and what I'll be sticking to for now. Yes it'll be a game to figure out who's narrating, that's part of the fun!

Other than that, enjoy! I'll include other notes as needed in the later chapters.

* * *

There's something about waking up soaked that's absolutely terrible.

It's heavy and sticky, with my hair royally messy, the knots it dried into are impossible to miss. Especially when I lift my head from the pillow, feeling the patch of wet that had previously been my resting spot. I'm not sure why I'm so damp, it isn't hot in the room at all, and I don't sweat much in my sleep anyway. The shower I took last night would have dried by now, even in the pure darkness of nighttime in my dad's gym. With nonexistent windows, it's heaven to sleep in, but hell on Earth when you need to get up in the morning and can't tell if it's 7 AM or 7 PM. Today happens to be one of those days, I grapple for my signal-less Pokénav to check the time and find myself unable to find it.

Grief. It's just too dark. I throw off the heavy blanket knowing full well it'll probably drape itself over my lovely backpack, breathing a sigh at the relentless chill of the gym. It was kept cold for a reason-Normal types have heavy fur, and they battle better when there's no heat to trap. Still; I for one do not have heavy fur, and air conditioning certainly won't help my hair dry.

For the sake of my own sanity, I'll just say it's the shower.

A low call from my impatient dad stirs urgency in me further, it's irritating that he's so insistent but it helps. Morning confirmed, I would say, even still I've had no time to get ready and there's no way I'm going out there without my "work" clothes on. He should know this, and still his logical mind won't tell him to wait ten goddamn seconds. I shake my head. Unfortunately, my hair had dried just enough that the style that developed as I slept against the pillow was what it was going to be stuck in. No, I don't have a brush on me, it's in my bag and right now I don't have time for that.

" _Soooon_! Come here!"

 _Speaking of_. A grunt of acceptance musters itself from the back of my throat, there's a small climb of half-assed effort to make it to the gym's bathroom while part of me still wants to linger in the dark and plan out my day. But Dad, for once, needs me for something. _This is no simple wake up call!_ An eye gives that loose twitch on such a note, adamant in his disappointment, he hasn't addressed me by name in some two or three months. That is only more apparent in the fact that he still called me "son" despite needing a favor.

I won't admit to him that it saddens me deeply, even despite the fact that I don't blame him at all. _Having a son like me..._

The bright stadium lights, typical for a gym, flash on with a notable boom.

And instantaneously I screech in horrible, melodramatic agony.

It's bright as hell almost instantly, searing the sleep right out of my eyes. Arceus, of course it burns! It had been pitch black two seconds ago, and now pure white! Unable to adjust in a timely manner, my eyes feel as if they're on fire. I keep them wrenched shut to ease the shrinking, backing up into the wall. There are literal tears seeping down my cheeks. " _AUUUUGH!_ Shit, Dad! Are you _trying_ to blind me?!" No matter how slowly I try to blink my eyelids open they only snap closed again, the tears themselves feeling like acid.

All I hear from the outside of the door is a cocky chuckle. "Thought you needed some light."

 _Yeah, well screw you too, then._ Eating up an entire three or four minutes waiting for my eyes to adjust to the hellfire is not how I planned to present myself in the least, which is quite a bit to make up for as far as impressions go. I'd hate to admit that I honestly do want my dad's respect again...

Augh. Damnit, it's going to be a busy day, and I'm wasting time crying a solar flare out of my eyes, and/or the shame of being a Trainer that would have their own father treat them like this. Am I being dramatic? Perhaps, but I spend all of my time treating my life like I'm the main character in a movie. And today feels like my great comeback from a fall from the highest heights!

And to be perfectly honest, I know I'm one-hundred percent justified in that judgement. Especially after last night's heart-to-heart with my dad, as little as he wanted to be involved with it. Why I told him everything I wanted to achieve at once, I don't know, but he didn't take it very well...though when someone never looks like they're taking anything, it's hard to make that judgment. Still. That's why I was worried at all.

I wanted to go to the Pokemon League, I had told him. At first he seemed almost surprised, then his expression fell back to normal. He knew that that wasn't all there was to it, and my goal. Before I had even started talking, he knew what I wanted to arrive to in that conversation. Travelling. I'd be gone for a long time, to find my way in and figure out how to get it through to the Champion that his misfit band known as the Elite Four were in it to get whatever they liked. That they were manipulative, abusive, lying, and most of all, not afraid to sacrifice lives. In the figurative sense as well, even. And again, my dad knew this too. I could read the distrust off of his features then, but I knew that he was aware that I was right.

Somehow, I'd take them down.

 _Revenge_. Finally able to release my eyelids from their permanent shut position, I crack a smile. The task seems impossible, even that feeling floods me with a looming sense of dread. But I want to reveal them for the conniving, power hungry group of individuals that they are. And there is no better person to do that than a Pokemon Trainer.

Tired of having been personally screwed by a group tasked with both law enforcement and enriching the Trainer's journey, it's time. With that, I move to put on my standard skin-hugging attire.

... _Underwhelmed_ isn't quite the word for the feeling. It's more, pleasantly unsurprised. That my worry at whatever he might have wanted was completely unnecessary, and it is in fact such a perfectly tame thing that I'm not sure why he had been so urgent in the first place. And I'm thankful I worried about my impression and/or appearance, because there's a stranger standing in the "house". I can only stare at him, and it seems he can only look from Dad, to me, to Dad again, and chuckle a little. A sheepish blush dancing across his pale and youthful face.

"M..Mister Norman, he looks so wh- _whipped_! You didn't have to do a..all that, I could've waited..."

 _That would've been nice before the fact, you._

Being the jackass of all trades that my dad is, he joins the boy in the stolen glances at me-frowning near-invisibly as he analyzes my face, I notice him not noticing that I noticed-then returns to what I assume was a prior conversation. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, obviously my very presence makes him tense. Knowing that he won't show that in front of the boy, though, I already have the advantage in the situation. Perhaps he's aware of that too.

"Now, he needed to get up anyway. And it's all in good fun, Wally. Do you want to explain your predicament to him?"

Won't even speak directly to me. It's as if I only exist as a divide between himself and his pride as a father, and I've been mentally disowned. It hurts more than he knows. I narrow my eyes bitterly at him-careful not to catch Wally's fickle glances-and twitch again. To my surprise, his eyes cloud over with distress. For something.

If I hated him, I'd say Wally's safety. But I don't hate him. And I can't at all read what he's worried about. It's actually kind of intimidating, to be honest.

Fully unnerved, I catch the hint and begin to ignore the older presence. Letting my eyes meet Wally, and instinctively taking in everything I can think to notice at this time. A few things that are obvious, for instance. From his toes up, his outfit displays a typically childish but still alarming lack of coordination. Black boots that almost hug his legs. Shorts of the same variety that are a tad too big on him for what they're supposed to be. Thankfully they're fully covering.

The off-white cardigan fits him, at least, though not so much the furry collar it has or the headphones loose around his neck. But the oddest thing on him has to be the fact that his outfit _glows_. _Neon_. Neon yellow lines along his stupid front that form the shape of a bow, and I'll be honest, look completely fucking ridiculous.

Being mean about it anyway. For some reason, he makes it work. Even with his hair being huge, unruly, and bright green. And with his entire body being the width of a twig.

Fully overwhelmed by his outfit, I don't take in his expression until he starts speaking. It's uncertain, still with an innocent smile, but much to my guilt it's easy to tell that he knows I'm judging him, and is trying to shake it off.

A sentence breaks my stupor for half a second, he speaks with a calculated confidence yet a defined stutter. Quite a combination. "U-um! Hi...s-sorry for that, Brendan...but...I'm Wally! And I kinda, uhh, would like your help with sssomethin'..."

...his _eyes_. They're bright blue. Wide. Unsure. But most of all, completely without visible pupils. Instead are two bold yellow symbols, a plus in his right and a minus in his left.

I feel sick.

Attempting to swallow it, I respond. "...You're...gonna hafta tell me what it is b'fore I agree, then."

That'll work. As if he doesn't know this prior unspoken rule, he withdraws, fiddling nervously with his hands. At least he's pointed in his answer. "R...right, that's right, sorry... I'm not good at asking for h-help." It's like watching gears turn, the way his horrific eyes squint and unsquint at the ground and his eyebrows quirk every which way. "um..it's sorta..embarassing... I'm, moving, r-right? And I have...quite a bit of video games... but I c-can't carry 'em myself, my aunt doesn't like them though so she won't h-help.." His voice steadily decreases in volume with every single word. I almost laugh-it is pretty embarassing.

Thankfully, I stop myself.

"S'you want me to help carry 'em is what you're saying. Carry them where exactly?" That first part is easy enough to both figure out and do, it's the second that worries me. How far will we be carrying them? And that doesn't even touch exactly how many games we'll be hauling. All I can do is trust Wally to explain.

"I..into the truck.. We're driving to V-Verdanturf, right? That's...really...a-all I need..."

Something I hadn't thought possible happens. His voice shrinks even more, and his nervous blush grows. "but...i-if you could help me unload them too...then...th-that'd be nice..."

So ride in the truck with him as well. While my first instinct is to refuse that latter part, something stops me. His expression, maybe. Or the part of me that notes that Verdanturf is quite a walk and, being unable to fly without being noticed, a head start such as that is more of a blessing than anything. I sigh, smile, and laugh nearly all at the same time, admittedly shellshocked by Wally's nervousness at asking such a simple thing. And the fact that I almost refused. Since when did I turn into that kind of person?

"Come with you, too?" I can't stop staring at his eyes-the curiosity in me is overwhelming, as well as the anxiety eating the walls of my stomach. I have to know. I absolutely have to. There's no way the eyes are natural. With a quick, tiny grunt, I guillotine my sporadic silence and brace myself for his happiness for my reply, "...Yeah. Sounds fun, actually."

I can feel my dad's tension ebb.

Wally's face explodes into a smile, something reminiscent of immense relief and utter cheer. It's like his happiness rubs off on me, what with a twinge of it growing uninvited in my chest. But that's fine. I know it'll be fleeting, I decide to savor it.

"...A-alright! Thank you, Brendan! C...can-" I notice him gaze soulfully at my dad, "We go n-now? It's...a bit of a d-drive too, so better..s-sooner than later.." Noticing his ramble, he quickly stops and appends, "b-but he should be back tomorrow!"

 _...staying the night?_ Huh. Still, I shoot that right in the nose, "Not tomorrow. I'll be traveling for the next like, I dunno, however long, Dad." Pretending as if he isn't already aware. With a light sigh, my dad nods.

"...As long as you're with your Pokemon, you'll be safe. Be sure to give your mom visits."

Wally seems quite amazed, actually. In a way it's startling how surprised he is about, _gasp_ , a Pokemon Trainer on a faraway adventure?!

...

... _It's gonna be a long ride._

I accept this with all of my heart, steeling myself to a few hours in a dark truck with a stranger. At least I know that he knows that there will be no funny business-Wally doesn't even appear to recognize me as anyone important. So that's fine. I give my dad a wave, leading Wally out the door of the gym.

"...Alright, that's that! Let's go, then."

 _...The sooner the better, after all._


	2. Ch 2: How to Feed a Hobby

A/N: No proper notes from me this time! Let's jump right in!

* * *

 _-_ ** _Several_** tapeless boxes stuffed with other boxes and slips and manuals dot the otherwise empty floor of my room, more than enough handiwork for myself if I'm being flattering today. Moving is such a project, it boggles the mind how humans manage to migrate entire families worth of junk into a single mode of transport. I for one am exhausted simply shoving it all into boxes, much less loading it up into neat stacks in the truck. And I wish that were the least of my concerns-with me riding in the back, it's up to me to make sure they're stacked safely as well! Sitting alone in the back of the truck...huh. Would anyone hear me if I got hurt? Or if the dust lit my lungs on fire? Surely my aunt thought of that possibility...

...But if she's already sick of her sudden responsibilities over her brother's expensive child, perhaps not. I don't want to see her in such an unsympathetic light, however my mind is having its own difficulties coming to terms with the fact that she cares about me. It isn't even a question of why, it's a question of how to get over it, and I'm not sure how to answer it. With my entire body draped over the largest of the boxes, and unmoving aside from the sporadic leg kicking, there's a miracle in the fact that I can call what I'm doing "effort".

Defeated, however, I feel weaker than ever.

I want to carry the video games myself, honest! But the boxes are too heavy and there's simply not enough of the cardboard cribs to package them fewer to a box. That, and I'm not tall enough to lift them into the truck. I can't bring them beyond my waist! It's a bit ridiculous...and my aunt says it's my fault for having so many games...and keeping the boxes for every one of them...which she'd be right, but...

Getting rid of them really is not an option! I want that as little as I want help, possibly even less. It's just not fair of her to expect that of me-in an effort to force me to rid myself of the expensive items, she left it up to me to carry them to the truck. And stack them up in the highest reaches of the confined vehicle, as if that makes it any better...

I know she does it out of love and concern for my "sanity"-her words, not mine, as if locking me in a house with nothing but the wall to stare at is healthy mental medicine-but as far as I'm concerned her love is more placed in making sure I'm not exposed to the likes of swear words. You know, the foulest of language, like the word "damnit". Written right into my E-rated game with colorful characters on the box. I don't get it. I'll never get it. What I do know, however, is that I won't let my first boot-clad step into that house be rife with regret and despair. No matter her efforts, I want my games.

Which is why I can't just be sitting here. In time, she may force me to forget about the several boxes of the valuable items. That's unacceptable, no matter the angle of which I view the scenario. At least I should be able to mentally decide, not relying on my dwindling body strength to choose if I keep my life's collection or not. Ugh. A stray groan signals my lift from the overly uncomfortable resting place I had chosen atop my adversary, entire body aching from the prior physical activity of "carefully" shoving as many pieces of labeled plastic into the boxes that I could. Which, with a minor burst of creativity, turned out to be all of them. Niiiice.

Regretfully, however...

Ahh, I can barely move the boxes. When had I gotten this many? To be honest, the amount is rather embarassing. Half of these I don't even play, the other half would probably never see the cardboard prisons again. The sheer number of those in the former category is what's bothering me into a lonely blush, of which I don't know the cause because I'm the only one who is aware of that little statistic. I nudge the box with my bare foot.

...Not sure what I'm expecting, anyway. The cardboard is cold and unfeeling as it generally is. Oh, if the box could be worth any comfort! It'd be my best friend, I'd have one.

For something so filled with my life, it sure is not an ounce of soothing! Bah! But it demands a steel throne of others much like it! For that, I must deliver. I shall receive nothing in return from the box, simply the precious cargo inside that will show gratitude for my selfless actions! I stare at it in mock disgust, almost apologetically.

Selfish box. Why can't it move itself? Unlike some of us, it doesn't even have to lift. Gaaah. And as if it had been waiting for the frustrated sigh, my predicament floods back into my memory. I need to move this box. There's no way around it. And staring at it until it hypothetically grows legs and waltzes charmingly into its place on the bed of the truck would take too long, not to mention the other boxes. So. I need help. I wish there's another way around that, but...there won't be.

I drop my hand into my pocket, deciding to test the waters with my Pokémon-agitation gnaws at my head, I know they won't be able to load these things, but with their limited resources perhaps they'll be able to help a little. Combined. With me at the helm, putting my untrained back into it, for what has to be the seventieth time today. It may or may not be wishful thinking, my mind wandering again with growing dread that I'll have to leave these behind.

I absolutely cannot leave these behind!

My hand grazes three heavy forms shoved haphazardly into the fluffy confines of my jacket-and I remember for the sixth time this week that I really need a Pokéball belt-feeling with a single finger the sticker on the top of each. My labeling system, for lack of easy selection waistside. It's unkempt, kind of tacky, and makes my drawing of the creatures inside rather slow, but it works for my casual approach. The final pass over a small, heart-shaped sticker tempts the impulsive grab of the ball it resides on, second nature, really.

It's funny, really. The shape and color of the sticker is admittedly very unsuitable for both myself and the Pokémon inside, even named as they are, but I feel no twinge of regret for it. It's pink. Puffy. Glittery. And it was also the last of May's "cosmetic stickers" at the time that she helped me catch my companion lying inside. For her disorganization, it had been a wonder that she even had such a thing to give.

And as the decorations are wont to do, it stuck.

I trail the button half-heartedly, disliking the idea of disturbing him and lighting his need to help for a mission that I know he'll fail. But just the same, I press it, aiming the blue flash to the floor.

"Heartbeat." No one is around to hear my call, and I am especially not battling anyone, so it is unnecessary. But I still do it as a courtesy to my resting friends. Even if they can't hear me, as I'm sure they are unable...which would be magnified by the fact that I'm speaking more an unconfident inquiry than a trainer command. At least I know he understands that more than anything...

"I-I...need your help."

The newly-reformed Kirlia puts on his curious, expectant face, and my fate is therein sealed. Admitting it, then. He'll know I can't lift to save my life and will even stoop as low as to use my Pokémon for simple chores. The very beginning tips of shame root themselves into the way I feel around for my second Pokémon, to add if Heartbeat can't help. A preemptive strike in that manner is notably a sign that I don't think he'll be able. Especially since he has not yet received his shot at solving it...

"...you um...h-how's your telepathy looking? Do you think you could help me move these boxes...?"

I'm smiling, actually. It's impossible for me to see, but the feeling of an involuntary tugging at my lips is more than enough. I feel as if he knows already, my predicament, just by looking at me.

And I might be right. Heartbeat's expression changes to a scrutinizing gaze. Despite knowing what's coming, my eyes still follow his small, pink-tinged paw's point to my left pocket. Proud of his assessment, he insists with a small purring.

...

My cheer drops.

"...O-of course I've thought of th-that..."

But the Controller isn't so much immoral as it is, impractical at the given time. I decide with some guilt that if it weren't for the indiscreet wire required to operate the thing, I'd have used it already. But my relatives are not fit to be subtly abused in such a way, even if Heartbeat covers for me-as he is fixing to "say", I know it-that'd only make it worse. It's just out of the question.

The blue Pokémon considers all of this, I'm so used to him being able to hear my thoughts that it's not even shocking. Myself, I'm simply good at deciphering what he's trying to say. Right now he's simply in deep thought, paw returning to a place under his chin. The words written in his ever-balanced posture can be read like English, clear as day, and the more I'm around Pokémon the more that I am realizing that this ever holds true.

...Finally, he speaks up again.

"Prraa." With a twirl, he directs his arm to the largest box, using Confusion to open the flaps. My attention is commanded to the neatly packaged games inside, then again towards the truck.

The flaps are closed again. I know exactly what he means.

"Rrrrr?" More of the impatient rattle, this time in a question.

Horror sets in, as well as a sudden flash of embarrassment. I didn't even see that as a potential solution until he pointed it out! I make my last ditch attempt to key into the impracticalities of bringing the games into the truck, and then putting them into the boxes, as he had implied, to save myself from the regret. Outsmarted! My cheeks burn.

"I-but...that'd take forever! I'd have to make s-so many trips, you know?"

Without missing a beat, he responds with a prideful purr accompanied with a point at himself. I don't even have to watch the latter to know, 'Not if I help'.

He still has a point. But for the sake of my already damaged pride, I reject it again. "S-still... it's too... l-late now, Heartbeat. They're...already in the boxes." Defeat accepted, he does have a higher IQ than me at any rate, for being Psychic-type. Though everything aside he knows as well as I do that unloading everything just to pack it all up again is not happening. He's just trying to make me feel bad. It works.

But the hint is thankfully clear as day. "I...I'll send out the others."

After all, if we do this as a team, Heartbeat should be able to use his Psychic to lighten the weight of the box. Perhaps he's already thought of that? I produce the final two Pokéballs from my pocket, one with a raised sticker shaped like a Pokémon's dainty footprint, and the other, with a small puff of a white feather glued to its front. Makeshift, I'm still meaning to replace it..

"Sixsham, Ferris, you're up."

At least I expect the confusion on their faces when there's no one around to battle. A sleek Delcatty and especially fluffy Swablu make their stares, awaiting command obediently-thing is, I haven't the slightest what to tell them. Part of me still refuses to admit defeat...the other part looks over to Heartbeat, frowning. Saving face in the fact that he's quick to pick up on it, stealing his companions in conversation that means nothing to me...at the moment. I'll be able to speak Delcatty eventually! It can't be that hard!

 _...still..._

A huge portion of my mind knows beyond all doubts that they won't be able to help. Sixsham would drop the thing, being as reckless as she is, and what would Ferris even be able to do? Wind? Eh...Suddenly, I'm not even sure I want them to try. Though it might have something to do with Sixsham chewing absentmindedly on an old, broken cartridge adapter left abandoned on the floor, and Ferris chirping at her. Was she even listening to Heartbeat at all?

Evidently not, with the way he watches my eyes.

 _...I'm not a very good Trainer..._

Small agitation in a quick, hot flash burns somewhere into my chest, the urge to ignite and whine filing in next to it. The reactions are hand-in-hand, for me to step back, stare at the three creatures in front of me, and sigh. A boy and his Pokémon, classic story, and mine refuse to even move a box. Why? They're my Pokémon, they should listen. Heartbeat at least tried...

"Myaaaa~"

There's a bumping into my leg. The prim Pokémon wants affection, this much is plain, and it turns out I've spoiled her. As if to answer my question, she had made her demand. They're too hooked on battling, food, and cuddles. Shoot! Of course I've made such a stupidly grim error, Sixsham is necessary to moving the box and she doesn't want to give it a shot. At least Ferris is doing his level best to convince her...or that's what I think his insistent chirps mean, at any rate.

"No, no, I'm...I'm busy, Six." However much it pains me to do so doesn't even matter as I drag a foot over to nudge her away. This is a mess. Because, beyond these three, I have to ask someone to help. There's no way around it now, and I feel slightly embarrassed for even attempting to use my partners. As if they can be called that, today. They definitely need more training...something I hope to accomplish in Verdanturf, and the esteemed Mauville City next it. After all...I'm barely even a Trainer, today. With a single Gym Badge, and three Pokémon that have very little synergy(and a power struggle to boot), there's no way I can call myself such a thing without a moment's hesitation.

Still, that's just being whiny. It's all nothing I can't accomplish in due time. My current situation, however, demands attention now. And I am sad to say(marginally only) that I have to deliver such a thing to it. With my frown growing in intensity, I slip my boots on, deciding with a silent resolve to resort to the pettiest, and most borderline illegal thing I could think to do if I have to. It all has to do with a small, rectangular device tucked away into the confines of my cardigan. And it is simply so unlike me to try. But if it feels necessary, I will, to Heartbeat's earnest advice. I swiftly take my hand from my own pocket when the yellow bands of light that generally streak my outfit light up in full force-something almost instantaneous to my steps out the door. Which is fine, it just has a tendency to attract strangers to staring.

"...See you guys in a bit, 'k? I'm gonna go get help."

And they get not a single say in the matter. Not after I'm still a _bit_ bitter about their refusal to aid me, not so much Heartbeat, but the other two. With the makings of a small frown forming on my lips, I'm out of the house, making a point to address not my aunt or her charismatic husband in that moment. There's a bit to think about. It's not my situation, not my currently MIA parents, not my lackluster teamwork with my Pokémon, and especially not the ferocity of which my bands glow. All of these things flash by in under a second as some sorts of accessories to my current issue, that being... _People_. People, of all things.

But it is a very valid concern, and as far as I'm aware there's not many I can think of that I'd like to ask for help. While I'd gotten Professor Birch's then-budding Trainer of a daughter's help before, that was by circumstance and she's surely well into her journey by now. And even then, she hadn't seemed the type to be interested in lifting things. Perhaps that's simply a judgment on my part for her being a girl, but nonetheless one I deem proper. So. That leaves just about three people, one of which is not easily accessible at the moment, another of which is probably long dead, and...the third of which, I've bothered about these menial tasks before.

If, by chance, he said no, I'd find it perfectly justified. But the fact remains that he's my only option right now, and so. I work up the smallest amount of nerves I can, ones buried _somewhere_ inside me, and head off across the green grass of Petalburg. There are few things I dislike more than burdening others, and yet for the umpteenth time in my life I find myself doing it again, over something so _private and personal_ as a bunch of timeless video games...!

But Mr. Norman is the strongest Trainer I know personally, and one of the most generous people in all of Hoenn. This is all only natural, that I come to him for help once again. In a sad sense of closure, I guess. One of my first experiences as a Trainer was made possible by him, and what has to be the start of my journey-I will definitely _not_ be staying in Verdanturf-will be aided too by him. And I'm happy for this. Despite the embarrassment, even. With it still eating generously at the pit of my stomach, it's a trouble to find those words possible, yet.

With my hands on the cold gym door, I decide to reminisce, albeit a bit shamelessly. In somewhere under five seconds, a few things catch my attention. Overhead Swablu, an Azumarill in the pond, and the gentle chit-chat of neighbors whose names I'll forget when I'm gone. All things that will presumably be regrettably forgone in this move...

A flash of anxiety hits me with the cold Gym air, and again, my fate is sealed. Now I _simply_ have to pose the question. With a thousand obstacles in my way. _I'm being a bother. It's too early for this. I can do it myself. He doesn't have time for things like this. I need to let go of the things. There's no point in being spiteful to my Pokémon. My outfit is dumb. This is the second time I've had to go to him for something due to my incapabilities. I should really just make friends. Leave the boxes. Leave the boxes._

..."... _e-excuse me_..!"...

* * *

A/N: Thank you for joining me for Chapter 2! Here we take a nice, long, drawn out look at Wally's characterization that kind of edges on unnecessary...but also establishes plot points in a few small areas. Have fun finding all of them, if you want! This took me quite a bit to find my muse for this Wally in particular...but I feel his base characterization will work nicely when he and Brendan have their first _real_ conversation next chapter. Trust me, I have an idea of what I'm doing. Also yes, Heartbeat is shiny. If you don't like that I kinda don't want to hear about it, it's actually important and I'm keeping it in.

Wally has an odd naming quirk, but another thing that shall be revealed.

I know the ending is abrupt but I rather like how it plays into the _struggle_ , at any rate.

So anyway! Please feel free to comment, criticize, or outright destroy this. I need it all for the sake of my improvement, which I would very much like to have some over the course of this fic. See y'all next time!


	3. Ch 3: How to Set Up Shop

**_-When_** we hit the grass of Petalburg, I simply don't expect Wally's rapid change in demeanor. His shyness drops somewhat dramatically, wherein instead he carries himself with an air of confidence I hadn't imagined he was capable of. Arms splayed at his side, it has to be the very opening makings of a curtsy with which he walks, barely looking back at me. If I were crazy, I'd mistake it for some sort of grudge...but...it isn't. Something else, perhaps? Confusing as it is, however, I can't bring myself to ask, if only so I don't have to stir up another unwanted conversation for today.

The day is warm. Pleasant, even, and it's a downright shame for me to have to spend it in a truck. With this kid. Especially when I could be plotting-or battling, or even catching new Pokémon. With a heavy sigh, I begin to absorb information.

With the way things are going now, I'll be spending the night at Wally's new place of residence. Which...is fine, if Verdanturf is a run-down place where they don't watch TV at all hours of the day. The chances of that are remarkably slim, however. And that simply doesn't do the trick, as far as relaxing my current mental fritz goes. Any single one of his relatives could perchance recognize me, cause a whole heap of trouble, and then I'm hiding again. That very fact sends a chill down my horrifically slouched spine.

What really gets me, however, is that Wally has no clue. Absolutely none at all, he's barely spared me more than two scrutinizing gazes of the most innocent kind. To figure out my gait, my personality, perhaps, and not at all with any semblance of recognition in his tiny green-fluffed head.

... _green-fluffed_. What?

Feeling a mental reel, I can't help but pinch my nose in minute frustration. This kid made absolutely no sense in the way he looked, to the point where it was giving me strange ways to describe it in involuntary fashion. There was no...coherency, with whites and browns and greens and blacks thrown all willy-nilly...wally-nilly? No. Fuck. What? My head is bouncing off its own walls, in such a way that when he finally does speak up, I almost completely miss his small voice.

"Hey..."

Wally's stopped walking, and before I plow right into him, I have to both notice and react in the half-second span I have to recall this impending social awkwardness. For what it's worth, however, it's a great success, and I tune back in just in time to see him twiddle his thumbs. What's funny, and I curse myself inwardly for noticing, is that the yellow streaks of light grow in intensity. To where the light scatters off of his seafoam green-painted fingernails, and just when I thought his appearance could not get any more outlandish. The sigh is nigh-impossible to fight back.

"Um. Hey...Brendan?"

Well it's plainly obvious that he has not fully committed to these words, that much is a-for sure.

"...e'yeah?"

A nice ten or so seconds pass, which are so indeed pleasant because they give me time to think about the fact that I prompted him to say more. Strangely enough, though, I don't regret it. His voice isn't grating like some others and he doesn't go for the immediate attack on me, that's two points to him. And in a world I would say has about, seven points, total, he's doing well so far.

"...so like...wh-what's the deal with Mister Norman...? I've never seen him um..act so, mean before-"

...okay. _Regretting it._

The effect my long silence has on him is conceptually similar to a train coasting helplessly into oncoming traffic, and just as horrific to watch. But the twinge of stabbing panic his question brings me is something I outright cannot tolerate, especially when it comes to the need to hide it. And hide it I shall, behind the depths of a thousand blankets of pure Mareep wool right over the eyes of the world. A world that consists of, currently, only Wally, but a world nonetheless.

One could say it is practice, yes. Others could simply state that it is a natural reaction to being asked a question I dislike. Whichever works, and to be honest I don't actually care, I just want to nail home that these things are not to be asked in our future car ride. In...the nicest way possible, of course. With how pitifully naive the boy seems, the idea of being outright...rude, to him, tastes iffy to me. I know my mouth opens to speak, because I just barely get out the first inklings of a syllable when all of a sudden, Wally blurts,

"...n-no! geez, s-sorry for askin', I got real curious. Nevermind."

...aaa..hah?

That's another full force pause for thought for me, and instead of frowning, I decide to go for the old shaking my head with a laugh. So he did catch his error after all, and the assumption is safe that something clicked in his head a minute ago. With a hesitant hand, I pat his shoulder, catching it completely to lead him away from the gym. Inconspicuously? Not really. But close enough that he does not seem to notice.

"No worries-heh. Y'wanna bring me t'your house, Wally?" A seamless subject change, if I am to compliment myself! But to be honest, I'm definitely trying to rush him, in some sense. The touch itself caused an awful flinch, and in that beat of a moment, his expression goes completely whacko. A state of shock, he leans his face up to stare incredulously and all I can do is stare back, blinking. In the span of a second, however, he frowns. And looks away. A small change in his glance that's almost invisible in how I look at him, and especially opaque in his own speech.

"Oh! Yeah. H-Here, follow me."

Wally just about yanks away, breathing a sigh of relief seconds after. Still, a smile remains plastered on his face, blissfully unaware of how he's entirely wronged me. Really, if he hated me that much, he didn't have to pretend to be that happy about it. Then we could just get the job done, have our dumb sleepover and I could be off forever. We'd both have benefited from the exchange and thus, no debt owed, and we would never have to see each other again. ...if I'm being positive about it, anyway.

Fact is, Hoenn is small. And I'd probably see him countless times.

"...um...Brendan. Foooollow...?"

Though my gasp of surprise is faint, it's plainly audible, entirety of my minimal attention snapping back upwards to watch him. Right. He's paused up ahead, smiling still, apologetically, and I can't help but hate it a little. Is he putting on a sort of front? Or is he legitimately, like-stupid? Rash? Or a failure at expressing his own emotions? When I step quickly to pull ahead of him in gait, it's harder to laugh this time.

All of that sounds familiar, doesn't it?

Ignore it, says I! "...got. Spaced out. Um. Jus' go on, I'll catch up if it happens again."

...I don't expect him to buy it, and he certainly doesn't. But it's in the way he stares, with his soulless, gaping eyes, that causes something to shake loose. Of intent concern, or something else in that vein, impossible for me to decipher at the moment but it does make me pause. And that's what makes all the difference, in the end, when he finally says something in a muted outburst.

"...g-gosh! I said I was...s-sorry, I mean...you don't gotta-d-do all this.."

"...hah? What? I didn't say anythin', Wally-"

Shoot, figured out this quickly, and I hadn't even said a word of my prior suspicions! The urge to drop this right here and now is powerful, and the only reason I manage to resist it in the first place is how sincerely he had spoken at all. The hell? Especially when he takes to pulling at his green bow-tie, strange being that the thing was crooked to begin with, and his frown grows.

"no...No, you didn't. b-but-"

Ah, the boy knows far more than he should, and underestimating him might've been a mistake on my part. He's staring at the ground, frustration evident-somehow, one babyfaced such as himself can manage such a thing-with something obviously eating at him. My own fault, perhaps, but there's absolutely nothing inside of me at this time that urges me to apologize. After all, the miscommunication is entirely of his own whim.

With growing haste, I sear off his questions. There's no reason for this discussion at the moment.

"...No, Wally. Your house. Isn't there something..."

As harsh as that may be, it's entirely necessary, and when it jolts him back to reality there's only a twinge of sadness in his eyes. But I haven't learned how to deal with these things, if he gets sad, well. What can I do about it? As far as I care, I'm the accidental bystander.

"...right. Right, you're...r-right. Again, let's g-go."

...Well.

 _At least that got him moving._

* * *

..If I had any doubts about Wally's lack of social aptitude before, they're certainly quelled now.

A giant box of video games-most of which I've never even seen before, mind-lying alone on the floor, stressed under the weight of itself. Did he need this many? Why at all would anyone own so many pieces of plastic? Not to mention the potential consoles lying inside. Looking at it, it's becoming more and more apparent why he's having trouble. Any reasonable guardian wouldn't allow this at all!

...but...

Being a reasonable guardian isn't really my job, is it.

Before he even allowed me into the room, he'd recalled his Pokémon. It had taken seconds, something told me he couldn't have any more than two at that rate. But that didn't mean anything if he felt the need to hide them from me, why so-? Were they weak? Was he just that bad of a Trainer? Any _real_ Trainer shouldn't be ashamed of their Pokémon, no matter the type. Especially because they're supposed to be Partners-?

Bah. It's not like Wally seems the type to care for battling. In fact, he seemed the exact opposite. The type to keep their Pokémon as pets, perhaps? Or maybe as video game partners. Hah. Still. My place to judge is far beyond the shore, nowhere near where I'm putting it at the moment. So for now, I shut up- _not like I had spoken at all_ -and put my focus to the games, eyeballing the weight of the cardboard casket before me.

"... _Wally_."

"..U- _Um_! ...Y-yes?"

He about jumped out of his skin, it was almost sad. Not like that spared him my verbal wrath, in any case.

" _Why_ so many games?"

Ah yes, the eternal question, one I've been meaning to ask since before we even left the gym. But seeing them now, in front of me, a bit too much for me to even tackle in my lifespan, makes it all the more necessary. He's going to drive himself insane, even trying to play all of these. More importantly, he's even bothered to keep the boxes for _every single one_. From what I can tell, anyway. Arceus himself only knows the ones he may not have the packaging for.

 _It boggles the mind._

Still, he doesn't even give that question a moment's thought before answering, with the smallest smile I've ever seen. Not even to mention his rather forced voice.

"...oh! I've-really, been collecting them for a while? Like...I'd get a bunch-as gifts, but when I started trainin'! I could buy them on my own, and...it got ssssorta... _eheh_.."

Oh, he'll never leave that poor bow-tie alone. What he says doesn't really mean much to me anyway, it's more _how_ that's of any interest. Disregarding that errant thought, though, I can only laugh, _lightly_ -can't make him feel _too_ bad?-at the mess he's gotten himself into. Clearly it had been a case of it simply getting out of hand under his watch, the poor thing. Not like I actually sympathize, per se...but I get it. Still. He could stand to get rid of at least...a few. I'll see to it at the sleepover, if convincing him of such a thing is even possible...

 _Sheesh._ He's waiting for a response with palpable anxiety, the glowing bands on his chest pulsing with energy...are they getting brighter? What is he doing? I open my mouth to voice my concern with this development-what if they catch fire?-but before I can he cuts me off, presumably unable to hold his patience any longer. Already I can simply frown.

"Bbbbbut! That-isn't the point, right? D...do you think you could...?"

The yellow fades into a soft light. I'm not sure why they've captivated my attention so, and this fixation is nigh-impossible to break, even for a response. Still. I force it, for what it's worth, begrudgingly returning my glance to the box on the ground. It looks formidable, for sure. But with enough effort, it probably isn't anything I can't handle. Before the boy can speak again, I break a plain " _hm_ " and split my prolonged silence. As far as I know, I've taken in more than enough information.

"...Well. If I put my back into it, I think I can take it, no problem." But there's another issue. The three other, tighter closed boxes that dot the floor. I don't exactly know what he has in them, and if they'll even be mobile. It's a quick observation, one taking just enough time for him to get visibly excited. And by that I mean he just about jumps, only barely containing it...then begins a half-strange prance to one of the other boxes.

 _And stopping there._

"Y-Yes! Awesome. I..I got this one, don't worry...u-uh..we should get started, right?"

Well that's one of the best ideas he's had all day. I can only shrug, not truly dismissively but not really agreeing either, I don't know what it is, but it sure means something. Yet not wanting to keep things unclear, I immediately crouch to the box, trying to brace it with my arms. It's not difficult. Comparatively, the box isn't much smaller than anything I've lifted before. As such, lifting it is a near-effortless task. Though it needs to be held with two arms and with the absolute brunt of my strength...

He's only staring at me, a bright grin growing on his face.

...Alright. So he's happy. I guess I can manage at least that until we depart. After all, it could be step one on my road to recovering karma...in a positive light, that is. Otherwise I could avoid the terrifying wrath of my dad with something like this. I breathe out a carefree sigh, impulsively asking Wally an airy, "What?"

He giggles lightly, dismissively shakes his head, and lifts with both arms the box at his feet. I'm honestly surprised that he can, but it must just be a box less full than the one currently resting in my arms. At least I didn't have to do all the work, hopefully that'd be a running theme on this silly quest of mine.

 _A quest that will have to be on hold until I finish aiding Wally._

* * *

Inside the waiting truck are a couple tens of boxes already. They're stacked in a method I don't quite understand; one side of the truck is stacked near to the top and the other has them barely breaching the halfway mark. It's needlessly uneven and even Wally seems upset by this choice in design, given that once we even manage to haul ourselves onto the bed of it he takes a long pause. And by long I mean nearly a minute and a half. Then he finally places his box onto another, larger one. Figuring he was done with that, I went to place mine down in a random spot...

Yet the change in his satisfaction with the situation is almost immediate. He shakes his head, and finally breaks the silence.

"N-No, Brendan. Put it up there."

I follow his gesture to a stack nearing the ceiling of the truck, that which is surrounded by countless other cardboard prisons. _What?_ Why did he want it all the way up there? But instead of asking that, I bring myself to only inquire of the technicalities of the whole situation. Rather,

"...you want me to climb?" _Across the boxes and upwards?_ It sounds fun at least, but I have to make sure before I break something important. He's being picky, yeah, but if it makes him happier to have it up there then I may as well just agree with him and, well, put it up there.

"Y-Yes. Please. B-be careful?"

 _...duh_. It won't get itself done, at any rate, and with another nod I make my way over to the back end of the truck, taking care to feel the boxes I step on with my foot for any give. None of them dip under my weight, at least, and it's easy enough to right my balance despite the weight of what I carry.

Up one level, two, three and some more and it's easy enough to plop his box at the top, and flush it to the side of the box next it. Plain and simple. After that, I turn around...only to see him struggling to make his way after me, having difficulties with the ascent with the cargo in his arms. Though it's funny, I see now why he needs my help...I'm not sure he can do anything on his own, at this rate. I find it in myself to feel some amount of sympathy, and barely holding in a laugh, I reach to take the box out of his arms.

When I set it down, he's staring again. While the way he fiddles with his hands is appreciative, his eyes suggest something far different- _betrayal_. The small amount of conflict in his gaze, but very visible agitation as well. What? As if he didn't already confuse me enough. I don't feel the desire to know, not in the least, but I still chance the question.

Against my own nature, I ask him another, smaller, "...What?"

At least I don't have time to come to regret asking when he immediately drops the act, lacing his hands behind his back in an action so quick I only just catch it. At least he knows when and when not to stay irritated at people, despite the fact that I still have no idea what bothered him to begin with. Not like it matters at this point.

He shakes his head, mumbling a small "thank you" before turning around and hopping back into the floor of the truck. If only he knew how baffled that makes me. I frown, choosing to take a minute or two before following him down there. He stops his walk at the truck's exit, turning around again.

"...Let's go get the rest! Then we can hang out for a bit!"

Good idea, again. I'd rather do that than dwell on what happened a minute ago. Immediately he hops out of the truck, and when I too join him on the grass, he dusts himself off. I don't know why, it wasn't even that dirty in there, but he does. If it floats his boat, then whatever, I suppose.

I'm not sure how much later it is that we're finally told to go wait in the truck. Wally's slowly emptying house hadn't been that much of a joy, and he made very few attempts at shallow conversation, so the idea of something new finally happening was a very welcome one. At least in the truck, I'd be able to hold any sort of discussion with him without his relatives breathing down my neck. And that was a golden opportunity to get information on the current happenings in the Hoenn region...without anyone of a capable age recognizing me.

 _Absolutely perfect._

When we head back out to the truck, the scenery inside of it is vastly different. The boxes are evened out, finally, and a bunch of random furniture had made its home inside. Such as a fridge, a table and some overturned chairs, Wally's dismantled bed, and some large TVs I hadn't noticed in the house before. It's an interesting and almost full transformation, and I find myself wondering why it all needs to be moved to begin with.

After all, I thought only Wally was moving...?

However shaking that thought, it seems my companion is equally as impressed by the change, bouncing excitedly before whipping to look at me.

"Look at all of this! We could get lost in here!"

"Probably. But that's the fun."

 _Aside from how exceedingly dangerous this whole thing is._ Still, I throw that caution to the wind, especially when Wally grapples the legs of the chairs atop the table to climb on top of the wooden thing. He's raring to go, to say the very least.

"Y-Yeah! C'mon, let's go sit down. It'll be a while."

 _True._ At least we packed food.

Everything aside, I join him in the treacherous climb to a stable place to put ourselves. Across the chairs and over a few boxes, only to have to step downward onto the floor again just behind the table setup. It's a small opening centered between the stacks of boxes, and being that it's on the floor, it's where I decide to plop myself down.

Wally, however, seems to have another idea. He stares my way for a spell, then shrugs and starts scaling the stack from before. He does it near effortlessly this time, taking care to step only on capable boxes, before sitting down, near to the ceiling of the whole contraption. ... _Why?_ _Can't he just sit on the floor?_ It's more dangerous up there to begin with. Especially if we came to a sudden stop. Still, I find myself staring up at him, even as he gets settled.

"... _there_! That'll work. You okay all the way down there Brendan?"

 _Um. Duh._ It's where I'm supposed to be. But I suppose he has his reasons for climbing all the way up there.

"...of course I'm okay. I'm probably just gonna take a nap."

 _Obviously_ a lie, but he seems to buy it. "mmm. Maybe same. But I'm not tired yet."

 _Evidently._

As I finish that thought, the truck's door drops shut, and aside from the long windows along the walls, darkness takes over.

* * *

 **A/N: I HAVE RETURNED FROM THE DEEP. And by that I mean, I was waiting until school started again to get back to work on RCL. Here's Chapter 3! I promise updates will be muuuch more frequent from now on, now that summer's over. However, with TSOG running with this fanfiction as well, I won't be able to handle it as much as I'd like...but we'll see. Point is, this fanfiction is very far from being cancelled, if it ever will be! After all, I still have a plot to deliver for everyone!**

 **But anyway.**

 **Chapter 3 covers a lot more characterization between our two heros, Brendan and Wally. There's a ton of subtle foreshadowing in this chapter as well, but it won't make sense until much, much later. Either way, this chapter and a lot of its minor details are very important. But that's enough on that. You'll notice I finally got them into the truck, and with that, Brendan is finally going to be on the road with his adventure. When will he and Wally meet again after this? Haha, I guess only I know.**

 **Purposefully, I established that Brendan is not entirely sure what to make of Wally. Like, he's convinced that this kid is a hella huge weirdo. And his assumption is definitely not far off base...but not for the reasons our hasty Pokemon trainer thinks. Oh, it'll all make sense for him in due time, I'm sure. Another thing of note is that, if you missed it in Chapter 2, Wally's parents are long thought to be dead at this point. Thus, cue the action of this chapter. He'll be coming to terms with the reality of such a thing later, of course.**

 **For now, however, I encourage anyone who reads this to form their own opinions on what I'm planning to do, and what's happening now. After all, I've left more than enough information in little nooks and crannies! I think it's a fun ride ahead, and I hope anyone reading this agrees. And seriously, thank you if you do. I appreciate it quiiiite a bit.**

 **Real fast-like and obvious s/o to my broski Kalkiru of Cloudy Gemstones fame for bein' there for me in all my hard times and having faith in this fanfiction, as well as me as a writer. It helped me pick it back up faster than I would've, and gives me the will to continue it. Big round of applause to him.**

 **Anyway! I'm ducking out now! I'll be here with you next chapter, but TSOG will probably be updating next!**

 **Peace.**


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